After what felt like an endless stream of torture, I wiped. Now I don’t like admitting this, but I’m one of those people who examines the used toilet paper to see how I can get away with folding it one more time before ripping off countless more sheets. Even at the young age of 11, I was conscious of the environment. Or it was that I was constantly finding myself in sticky, and smelly, situations surrounded by empty cardboard toilet rolls and no paper!
So, I looked down and what issued from my lungs can only be described as howling. Yes, I howled at the top of my lungs like a wounded animal. In retrospect, I will defend this behavior because, at the time, I really thought it was appropriate. You may be laughing at me or tilting your head and smiling in sympathy – “That poor little girl didn’t know what was happening.”
But no! I knew exactly what that oddly beautiful mixture of maroon and bright red was. I knew what it meant. It meant I was turning into a woman and looking at forty odd years of menstruation. I was staring into the gooey mirror of my future. And that is exactly why I was howling.
Now, I have always been a practical and rational person. Okay, truthfully, mostly during emergencies, which this certainly qualified as! I wiped myself raw until I thought nothing red would ever come out of my private parts again and flushed away my horror. Hearing my aunt in the next room, I went and asked her for a pad. I had friends in middle school, I was prepared for this situation.
So what did my aunt do? Instead of giving me a pad, she started squealing and hugging me. Exactly the opposite of what I wanted! I wanted some type of protection to make sure that gooey mix would be kept inside as long as possible! Hearing the shrieking, my mother, as all mothers do, came to investigate.
When she found out the story, she was shocked. I say stunned into silence, not because she was happy her daughter was growing up so fast. No. She was silent because I hadn’t come to her first. And trust me, thirteen years later, she still guilt trips me over this fact. “Oh? You’re telling her that? You never talk to me like that. No, no. I know how much you love me. It’s just like that time you didn’t tell me…”
“Here we go…” I think, sighing. At the beginning of her rant, I turn to walk away. But the fact is – a girl’s first period is important. And the story is important. It should be told and shared. If not to gain someones sympathy or to laugh with your friends years later, it can create a special bond between women everywhere.
And, I’m glad my mom knew. Because it was my mom who took me to the local pharmacy after my aunt had gotten busy with other things. My mom walked me into the aisle which had towers of bright pink boxes, white plastic cases with pictures of what looked like skinny diapers on the front, and green boxes with plants.
Tampax, Playtex, Kotex. The first thing I wondered was not how to choose between all the products, between scented, super or light. I wondered why all the brand names had the letter X in them. And just as my eyes begin to widen with fear, my mother took my hand and explained the difference between all the products.
Eventually, I left with a bag containing those skinny, diaper looking things, which Mom said were pads – pads with wings. I also walked out wearing one, which I’m sure was not only a relief to myself but also anybody in a fifty foot radius of me who had observed me walking into the store squeezing my thigh-fat together in hopes of controlling any potential flow.
At the time I had to choose which product was best for me, there was no option like Maxim, a Softer, Safer and more Natural alternative. So although Thanksgiving 1999 was questionably thankful, considering the surprise of my first period, I’m so thankful today to have Maxim as an option! Click here for more information, guidance and tools on how to choose the best period products for you!!! And share your First Period Story with us so that you don’t feel so alone!!